


Enter The Purrminator / More Tea, Purrfessor?

by Anonysquirrel (chibirisuchan)



Series: Runs in the Family [2]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Bad Puns, Cats, Dogs, Lawyers, M/M, Mpreg, Newly written, Past unpleasantness, Raining thereof, Shout-out to Palalife
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibirisuchan/pseuds/Anonysquirrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I think Mendel would be a perfectly lovely name for a cat -- especially one displaying such a pretty instance of Ss bicolor genes and a non-tabby agouti mutation! The tuxedo pattern's genetics are fairly well established, but no one's quite isolated the allele for those mittens--"</i>
</p><p>  <i>"I could get behind Tux. Or Tuxie, if he's a she."</i></p><p>  <i>"I can't," Charles said, rubbing his temples. "Honestly, love, it's a miracle we've ever managed to name our children."</i></p><p>In which Alex brings home more strays, and Charles doesn't mind. For Palalife and her incredibly adorable <a href="http://palalife.tumblr.com/tagged/cat">cat!Charles and dog!Erik</a> pictures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enter The Purrminator / More Tea, Purrfessor?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palalife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palalife/gifts).



> So I completely adore Palalife's [cat!Charles and dog!Erik](http://palalife.tumblr.com/tagged/cat), and I wanted to get something new actually finished this year, so I twiddled around with what might happen if two suspiciously familiar-looking pets showed up in the Familyverse. Except having two sets of Charleses and Eriks would get confusing, so of course they had to figure out what to name them... and then come to some sort of agreement. (Uh-oh.) 
> 
> (I couldn't actually decide which to title this fic, so it has two titles. Also, human shampoo is bad for cats, which is one of the reasons the cat escaped before Alex got to apply any. :3)
> 
> Chronologically this comes just after Runs in the Family and before Office Hours, although both of those were written months ago.

Charles really hadn't meant to sleep through the family lunch on Alex's second day with their family. 

He blamed the legal system, really. Emma had called him at the crack of dawn to warn him that as soon as Jack and Judy Engelbart learned who had taken in the 'dangerous mutant delinquent' they'd thrown out of their house, they'd promptly broadened the scope of their lawsuit against DCFS to include the Xavier Institute. 

They were challenging the mutant non-discrimination clauses that he and Erik had worked so hard to have legalized, and somehow blaming Charles _personally_ for their house's destruction. Apparently, being 'a psychic', he should somehow have known about Alex's difficulties long before Alex had been placed with 'defenseless human guardians' who had feared and mistrusted him and made him so miserable and scared and tightly-leashed that he'd forced down his mutation until he literally burst with it. 

He hadn't even bothered asking Emma to explain the difference between telepathy and precognition to them. The most urgent matter was maintaining the mutant non-discrimination clauses in the child protective custody acts. He'd spent the morning sending emails and texts while phoning senators, congressmen, and lobbyists, all the while keeping mentally coordinated with Emma on the legal precedents they were citing - and while carefully dissuading the children from approaching the study.

Erik often chided him for his idealism, but Charles fiercely believed that the children didn't need to know what petty, greedy cowards some people could become when faced with differences -- or when presented the opportunity to dig into a rich man's name and bank account. 

Most of all, he didn't want _Alex_ to realize that his former foster parents were using Alex's presence in the Xavier mansion as an excuse to take a grab at a couple million dollars. Or that Charles was giving serious thought to a no-fault settlement, just to prevent the possibility of lawyers dragging Alex into court and giving the Engelbarts the chance to convince a frightened and uneasy human jury to remove mutant children's legal protections against unintended damages their new powers caused.

By midday, he was absolutely exhausted, and less guarded than he should have been. He felt a familiar snow-cool brush across his mind, and then found himself wrapped in a thick warm thought-blurring blanket and pushed down toward sleep.

 _Emma,_ Charles protested sleepily. _What happened to that ice cold reputation?_

_This isn't coddling, sugar, this is pure selfishness. I'll need you sharp this afternoon. Get some rest while you can._

He wasn't sure how long Emma kept him under; she was clearly keeping tabs on him despite the fact that her range was more limited than his own, because literally a minute after Charles awoke, Erik swept in with a plate of food and a glass of juice. 

He plucked the Starkpad off the table before Charles could pick it up, stuck a hand into Charles' pocket to retrieve his phone, kissed his brow sweetly, and whisked back out with all the communication technology in his hands before Charles had even finished blinking.

_I thought you didn't like Emma's chill in your mind, love?_

_That's what texting is for,_ Erik replied fondly. _Obviously you need more rest._

 _No, I just need more tea._

Charles rubbed a hand over his face, and looked around vainly for anything that he might use for ordinary, non-telepathic, documentable contact with their lobbying team. Erik had been thorough, though; at some point while Charles was napping, he'd not only removed the desk computer, he'd also unplugged and made off with the desk phone.

 _Eat,_ Erik said, and with it came a rather primeval satisfaction at having provided nourishment to his lover and their child so snugly rounding his belly.

_If you attempt to drag home a wooly mammoth to feed your pregnant mate, Mr. Flintstone, I shall be quite cross._

Erik's indignant rejection of that image crossed several linguistic borders; Charles smiled, and sipped at his juice.

There was far too much food, of course; for all that Charles had explained that a pregnant person only needed a couple hundred more calories per day, Erik had a tendency to try to feed him as though he were literally eating for two. 

His stomach was just as crowded by the baby's growth as the rest of his organs, though, and so he was far more comfortable with small nibbles spread out over time. He'd told Erik that, too, and Erik had nodded with every indication of comprehension -- and to Erik's credit, the individual items he brought after that conversation were smaller. But he compensated by bringing more variety, as though Erik couldn't bear the thought that Charles might lack for anything.

The plate he'd handed Charles held some beautifully cooked salmon atop a bed of potatoes and gravy, with a fantastic presentation of snow peas and tomatoes and mozzarella dressed with balsamic vinegar and herbs -- and also a red and gold beet salad, because of the antioxidants, and three bacon-wrapped dates, because he'd expressed a fondness for them nearly a decade ago at an evening's dinner in Barcelona and Erik had never forgotten. And a delicate little berry tart topped with whipped cream, because of his weakness for puddings, and a scone, just because. And jam and butter to go with the scone, of course.

Charles carefully set the tart and scone aside for later, regardless of how tempted he was to eat his pudding first. If he ate even half of what was on the plate, he was sure he'd go directly back to sleep. ...Which might actually have been part of Erik's plan, come to think of it.

He picked up his fork, and something prickled very delicately at his shin.

 _Mew,_ it said.

An absolutely drenched cat's paw was patting very lightly at his shoe and shoelace from under the sofa.

"Oh good heavens," Charles said, startled.

 _Mew,_ it agreed.

"Well, come up here; I'm afraid I can't bend enough to fetch you out from under there. No, it's all right," he added more softly when the little white-mittened paw retreated under the sofa. "I promise I don't eat wet bedraggled kittens for lunch. In fact, I have some lovely salmon that you're more than welcome to partake of. Here--" 

Charles broke off a piece and reached down to offer it in his fingertips; barely a moment later he had a palm full of wet whiskery nose and sandpaper tongue devouring every last scrap, and he bit his lip to keep from laughing and startling the poor thing.

"There, that's right," he managed, hilarity-choked. "The next bite's up here -- come on up, then, let's have a look at you."

The extremely wet cat leapt up onto the sofa willingly at the promise of more bits of salmon. When it was dry it must have been quite lovely; it looked to be a gray domestic shorthair with a dominant B and two recessive d alleles, along with the SS or Ss white markings and possibly the hypothesized Sb mitten allele.

With all its fur soaked, it was clear that the poor thing hadn't been fed properly for a while. But just as clearly, it was familiar with humans; it ate carefully from his fingertips, never nipping him by accident, and shoved its head vigorously into his palm, vibrating with both purrs and shivers.

"Oh, you poor darling," Charles said, wriggling out of his cardigan and wrapping it snugly around the drenched creature. "Let me guess: the children found you muddy and hungry and planned to amend both, but you didn't care for the bathing, hmm? Never underestimate the slipperiness of a wet cat."

 _PrrrRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRRrrrrr,_ the cat agreed, following his palm with its head so vigorously that he laughed and kept petting, reaching a bit awkwardly with his off hand for another bit of fish for the cat.

 _Erik,_ Charles called, _do you know anything about our visitor?_

 _WHAT? WHERE? I'm coming--!_

And Charles' wedding ring twitched sharply on his finger as Erik went dashing through the hallways, the desk lamp and pens and even the nails in the walls already vibrating with his frantic concern.

 _No, darling, it's FINE,_ he sent back hastily, along with a burst of safety-love-peace-amusement-tickles. (The tickles were an accident; the cat was licking the salmon juices from his fingertips.)

Still, Erik came skidding into the room badly winded, the fixtures still quivering.

 _We're fine, love. We're all fine,_ Charles said, taking extra care to push comfort and calm and peace through before he switched voices. "But I take it the children hadn't told you about our little visitor either?"

Erik sagged against the doorway in relief, catching his breath. The cat's ears and whiskers pricked forward, curious, and it patted Charles' arm with a white-mittened paw.

 _Prrt?_ it asked, then shook its head and poked at the water in its still-damp ear with a hind foot.

"Apparently wet cats have amazing powers of escape and evasion," Charles offered, smiling. "Is there any tinned cat food in the house? I'm sure this one was someone's indoor pet, she's so friendly. And very polite with her claws too. Unless perhaps it's a him; I haven't checked yet..."

"Don't scare me like that," Erik said gruffly, walking over to scruffle the cat's water-spiky fur. 

"Honestly, I didn't mean to startle you, love. I assure you I'd have been much more specific if we'd had some sort of invasion."

Happy to receive affection from warm hands, the cat arched up into his palm and redoubled its purr. 

A little surprised by how readily the cat accepted his touch, Erik grinned and leaned both hands into the scruffling: "Hey, there, puss."

" _Puss?_ We can certainly do better than that," Charles said.

Erik shot him a wry look. "Gregor, Mendel, Watson, and Crick do not count as 'better.' No geneticist cats, please."

"I think Mendel would be a perfectly lovely name for a cat -- especially one displaying such a pretty instance of Ss bicolor genes and a non-tabby agouti mutation! The tuxedo pattern's genetics are fairly well established, but no one's quite isolated the allele for those mittens--"

"I could get behind Tux. Or Tuxie, if he's a she."

"I can't," Charles said, rubbing his temples. "Honestly, love, it's a miracle we've ever managed to name our children."

"That's a thought," Erik mused. "Maybe whichever of the kids found Puss found a collar too?"

"I'll check." _Children,_ Charles called, _who's lost a very wet cat mid-washing, and does she have a name?_

There was one quickly-squashed flare of guilt from the east wing, followed almost immediately by bubbling sparks of curiosity all over the house. A few minutes later, the study was full of interested young mutants peering at the cat bundled in Charles' blue cardigan. 

_mew,_ it protested in a tiny voice, huddling shyly into Charles' side.

Ororo and Wanda both melted. So did Sean. 

"Aww, isn't she a sweetie?" (That was Sean.)

"Look how blue her eyes are!"

"Just like Papa's sweater."

"We could call her Sweetheart."

"No!" said all the boys at once.

"We could call her Cardigan--"

"--No."

"Is she even a girl?"

"We haven't checked yet," Charles said, rubbing a fingertip under the cat's chin to feel that remarkable purr. "Don't want to upset the poor thing further."

"We could call her Harley," Raven offered. "Quinn _or_ Davidson, depending." 

"She purrs like she's got a pretty big engine in there," Darwin agreed with a grin.

"Yeah! Motorcycles go fast!" Pietro said, but Wanda scrunched up her nose and stuck out her tongue.

"Motorcycles smell bad!"

"What about Dorian?" Charles offered. "Not a geneticist, I promise."

Erik arched an eyebrow at him. "Dorian _Gray?"_

"If it's a boy cat," Charles agreed brightly, "and Lady Jane Grey if it's a girl--"

"No obscure geek jokes, Papa," Sean groaned.

"I _beg_ your pardon; Oscar Wilde is hardly obscure--"

"What about something normal, like Ashes or Smokey or something?"

"Boring," Wanda declared.

"I like Harley," Angel said. 

"Can we vote?"

"This isn't a democracy," Erik said by pure reflex, because the children outnumbered the adults by about 4 to 1, and were therefore much more fond of attempting parent-outnumbering votes about bedtimes and snack foods.

Still, the thought of votes and a quick head count had Charles realizing that Hank and Alex hadn't arrived with the others. There was a little nerve-spark still dancing in a distant corner -- and then a yowl that made the spark flare into alarm.

The echoing skitter and scramble of a dog's claws galloping on the flooring was rather unexpected. So was Alex's half-bitten-off cursing, and a yelp from the dog, and then a yelp from Hank, and then the dog -- a lovely Doberman, also wet, and unquestionably male -- burst into the study.

Amid the squealing and scrambling from the kids, who were tripping over themselves trying to interpose between the cat and the dog, Alex and Hank came dashing into the room and nearly flattened Sean between them. The dog yelped when Darwin grabbed him by the scruff. 

Instead of bushing out and climbing the curtains, though, the cat wriggled out of Charles' cardigan and padded over to snuffle at the dog, who promptly sat down and nuzzled at the cat's white chest. 

Purring like a well-tuned engine, the cat started vigorously licking the dog's nearest ear. The dog's tail started up a metronomic wag-wag-wag sweeping back and forth across the floorboards.

The tangled up kids collapsed in a heap of relief; Darwin chuckled, and ruffled the Doberman's ears.

"Yeah, um, they know each other," Hank put into the relative quiet. "Alex found them out by the sports center after school, some jerks were throwing mud at 'em. I'm glad they weren't using rocks, but still--"

"I'm _so_ sorry," Alex burst out, looking more than a little wrecked. "You haven't even had a chance to get used to me and now I'm dragging in muddy animals into a house like this? You didn't even ask for one stray, let alone lots of us, so I was going to take care of it myself -- I picked up some food, I was going to give 'em both a bath, the dog was fine with the washing so I thought the cat would be even easier because it was smaller, except, uh. Apparently cats really hate water?" 

He said it like it was a surprise. Charles valiantly resisted the urge to facepalm, because it certainly wasn't Alex's fault he hadn't been able to have pets, but the mental images were far too vivid even without his telepathy engaged.

"And when the shampoo came out, it was all over but the screaming," Alex sighed. "And then the dog freaked out when the cat freaked out and -- listen, I'll totally clean the bathroom, and the hallways, I just -- give me a little while to get sh- stuff under control?" 

"Of course," Charles told him, smiling. "It's not a problem."

"They won't be any trouble," Alex reassured Erik a little desperately. "I'll keep them in my room, I'll pay for their food, it'll take me a while to save up for the vet but I--" 

"Wait, wait, wait," Charles cut in, waving both hands. "Of course we can feed them and take them to the vet; we'll need to check to see if they've been microchipped soon, before anyone gets too desperately attached. And I think you might find your room invaded by littles if you intend to keep them both in there."

Four little heads (and Sean) nodded vigorously. Erik's attempt at playing it cool was being somewhat undermined by how happily the cat was arching its head into his palm as he rubbed under its chin.

Alex still looked-and-felt a little spooked, though, as though he might need to grab the pets and run at any moment.

"I swear I don't do stuff like this usually," he said. "I mean, like, ever. And if I was still at Jack and Judy's I don't know what I would've done, Judy would have flipped her--" A quick glance around at the kids had him rather lamely amending, "pancakes. Flipped her pancakes. It's just... I..."

"I told him it'd be fine, Papa," Hank said, pushing his glasses up with a fingertip.

"Quite right," Charles agreed, making sure to wall off any thoughts of the potential lawsuit before adding a little mental reinforcement for Alex's thoughts only: _You did exactly the right thing. I'm not at all upset to find new visitors in need of a spot of help; this house is more than big enough, after all. You have a kind and protective heart; never be ashamed of that. And around here? Never let fretting about money keep you from doing what's right. I insist upon handling the veterinary bills, and any other expenses they might produce. --And don't worry about the carpets, they've certainly seen worse._

 _I swear I didn't mean to bring home even more trouble,_ Alex told him, miserable.

 _You haven't. In fact, I'd say you've brought home quite a bit of joy. The only potential trouble I can think of is what to do if we find they have previous owners that want them back, because I can tell that the littles are rather ferociously attached already -- and that's absolutely_ not _your fault._

 _How are you real?_ Alex asked, along with a blurred flurry of resentful thoughts about not-families shouting and doors slamming and having to sit only on the plastic-covered furniture and hiding a goldfish bowl in the closet.

 _Wealth and privilege makes generosity far easier,_ Charles said. _I can afford to replace muddy furniture whenever I wish; your previous families were likely not so fortunate._

 _Yeah, but wealth and privilege makes stingy bastards too,_ Alex shot back tartly. _You're never going to convince me any of this -- this -- (welcome/acceptance/trust/kindness) Charles-ness? is normal. But I'll take it as long as you'll let me._

 _Good,_ Charles replied, satisfied. _That would be approximately forever, then._

 _You are so not normal,_ Alex said again, shaking his head a little.

_My dear boy, you're speaking telepathically with a pregnant man. I should think that a few of my abnormalities were already apparent._

_Well, yeah. Heh. ...Fuck normal anyway._

The cat was fluffing up to quite a plush and soft little thing as its fur dried, between the cardigan and the petting. It seemed happy to lick itself dry, or to lick the dog dry, or to lick the children dry, or to lick dry anything that got in the way of its tongue really.

The dog's licking was much louder, and--

"Hey!" Erik yelped, looking over just in time to see the dog inhaling the last of the food off Charles' plate. It licked its chops thoughtfully. "No! Bad dog!"

It knew the sound of _bad dog;_ its ears drooped and it gave a lttle whine, flopping its head down on its paws.

 _Nyaow,_ the cat protested.

"I'm sure the poor chap's hungry," Charles said. "Not to encourage eating off untended plates, but I'm inclined to forgive him under the circumstances." _Especially,_ a mischievous little notion suggested, _since now I can eat my pudding guilt-free._

Erik sighed and dug a hand through his hair. "I don't think there were any onions or garlic in it, and no chocolate -- is there anything else dogs aren't supposed to eat?"

"We'll likely find out if the carpet gets redecorated in a couple hours," Angel said, ever practical.

"We should name him so Erik has something better than 'hey dog' to shout," Raven mused.

"Don't get too attached," Charles said, already knowing he was fighting a lost cause. 

"Microchips, vet, owners, yeah we know," she assured him. "But we might as well have something to call 'em in the meantime."

Hank pushed up his glasses with a fingertip.

"No scientists," Erik and Sean said at once, and Charles sighed aloud.

"Well, there's literature," Hank said. "We've got a Gray Mouser here, so how about Fafhrd for the dog?"

"...Okay, new rule. No names that sound like hairballs either," Angel said. "I like Harley. Maybe the dog could be Davidson."

"But she's too cuddly for a Harley," Ororo said. "Vati, what do you think?"

"I still like Puss. And maybe Spot for the dog."

"Erik, love, the dog isn't particularly spotted," Charles pointed out delicately.

Erik shrugged. "Still a good name for a dog."

"All right, you're hopeless," Raven said. "Moving on."

"Hey, he's a German shepherd, right?" Sean said, excited. "Arnold, like Schwarzenegger! And robots are gray, so we've got Arnold and the Purrminator! Because once you feed a cat, _he'll be back._ " 

Sean sketched a rim shot in the air, while Angel groaned and Darwin slugged him in the shoulder and Pietro made a noise something like dolphins.

"Purrrrrrrrrminator!" Pietro announced, collapsing to the floor in giggles.

"All right, first off, Schwarzenegger's Austrian," Angel said. "Second, that's not a German shepherd. He's a Doberman."

"You're just jealous you didn't think of it," Sean tossed back easily. "Dobermans are German too, right?"

"But just look at this sweet face," Angel said, scratching the cat's ears as it enthusiastically kneaded Charles' cardigan with both forepaws. "This is not the face of a Terminator. A couple of those fangy beasts out in the barn, now, them I could see terminating mice with extreme prejudice. This one? Probably just plays tag. She makes nice with a _dog,_ after all."

"Purrrrrrrrrminator!" 

"Not if she's a girl," Wanda told her twin firmly.

"Okay, so if we're doing bad movie puns, how about Prince of Purrsia?" Sean asked. "Or Princess, depending. Not sure about the dog, though."

"Hmm. Barkley?" Charles offered.

"Except we hope he doesn't," Hank observed.

"Oscar Meyer," Wanda offered. "He's a hot dog, he's panting."

"They do that when they're happy, darling," Charles pointed out.

"Oh. Good. Then he should be a hot dog all the time!"

"Wait, wait, I've got it," Raven said, golden eyes alight with glee. "Look at what we have here. A tall skinny fierce-looking German with extra bonus teeth and all the protective instincts ever, and a short fluffy gray-suit-wearing lazybones that makes friends with anything that doesn't run away fast enough."

Everyone looked first at Erik, and then at Charles.

"She has a point," Darwin said.

"Put like that, it's almost uncanny," Hank agreed.

"Excuse me, I am hardly _lazy,_ " Charles protested.

"Would you prefer I'd said 'snugglebunny'?"

"...There is no correct answer to that question," Charles said, pained.

"Hey, look," Alex said, running a hand over the cat's back and gesturing at how deeply it would arch its spine up into his palm. "Back rubs are cat approved too! Let's see about tummy rubs..." 

"All right, all right, I grant that there _may_ be a certain resemblance," Charles sighed. "Two sets of identical names would be confusing, though. And 'Charlie' sets my teeth on edge."

"Which is why we call them -- " Raven made a dramatic flourish with both hands -- "The Purrfessor and Wagneto!"

" _Madre de Dios,_ " Angel groaned, over Sean's enthusiastic laughter.

Something in Raven's flourish must have looked like throwing to hopeful pet eyes; the dog leapt to his feet, tail a blur of enthusiasm as he looked around for the ball or stick.

"And he lives up to the name!" Raven declared, even as the dog leaned over and bumped her leg, looking for her to throw something again.

 _"Wagneto?"_ Alex choked, gleefully incredulous. "Seriously? What did that poor dog ever do to you?"

"It fit the theme," Raven said, tossing Charles' fork across the room so the dog could gallop after it in utter doggy bliss. 

"Not that there's anything wrong with the name 'Magneto,'" Erik said, with significant emphasis.

Raven, Angel, Alex, and Darwin looked at each other, and all four of them burst into hysterics.

For a man who insisted he never sulked, Erik was doing a sterling impersonation of it, Charles thought to himself, even as he reached over and patted his husband's hand consolingly.

"What about Wagner? Good German name, that."

"Not when you pronounce it like _that_ , love," Erik said, wincing. "No part of that name rhymes with 'wag.'"

"Magnus, then," Charles said, smiling up at him. "We'll still be naming him for you, and he looks rather like a Magnus, doesn't he? Very solemn and impressive."

They looked over at the dog, who was currently rolling on the carpet trying to gnaw the fork handle into submission.

"Let us say he has the _potential_ to look solemn and impressive," Charles amended sheepishly.

"And Magnus's superhero secret identity is Wagneto!" Sean snickered. "For when we put a red doggy cape on him at Halloween. Think he'd go for a helmet and boots?"

"Oh dear God," Charles said, rubbing his temples as Wanda's mind immediately burst into the possibilities of papier-mache dog helmets.

Erik's phone made the soft, near-inaudible buzz of vibrate mode; he bent and kissed Charles' temple before striding out into the hall to answer.

The phone startled him into memory: Emma, the lawyers, the lobbyists, all the calls and contacts he ought to be making rather than sitting about speculating on pet names -- for a moment, he wondered why nobody had called him back, even as he groped for his own phone to check messages.

Then he remembered that Erik had confiscated all the electronics.

 _Erik,_ Charles said, as lightly as the cat had settled a paw on his ankle earlier. 

The quick flare of startlement-guilt-stealth was all the answer he really needed, even before Erik sent back, _Later._

_That's Emma?_

_Yes. Talk later._

With a sigh, Charles stretched his thoughts further, toward a bell-crisp pillar of prismatic white ice. She batted him on the nose lightly.

_Hush, sugar. This time Aunt Emma is helping Vati take care of it for you._

_Emma, I won't just sit around and do nothing--_

_Of course you won't. You already haven't. You took the morning shift; Erik's taking the afternoon, and you're on call for backup if we need you. Relax; I told you I'd need you sharp when I needed you, and wearing yourself out unneccarily is not sharp._

_And when are you going to rest?_

_Charles, honey, I'm a lawyer. I live for the smell of blood in the water. So does my team. I don't just do this because I'm good at it. I do this because I love it. I_ love _defending our kind and making those paranoid bigoted sacks of slime squirm. You'd hate it; you're too damn_ nice _. Let your husband and me snarl at them for a while before we call you in to soften 'em up with tea and sugar._

Charles sighed as deeply as he could manage, with his middle so roundly full. _You're ruining your icy reputation,_ he said. _Especially once I have the chance to sic the cat on you. No one can be terrifying with a lapcat making motorboat noises and shamelessly demanding all the attention in the universe._

_Want to bet?_

_Heh. Season tickets to the Met's spring opera series. We'll let Raven and Logan be the judges._

_You're on, sugar._

When he blinked back to the room he was sitting in, Sean had twisted his socks into a chain and was playing tug-of-war with a very happy Magnus. The Purrfessor, meanwhile, was far too fond of his cardigan; the motorboat purr really was startling from so close by, and so was the enthusiasm with which the little thing rolled around and kneaded its paws on the blue knit fabric. ...Well. Formerly blue; it was taking on a distinctly gray-fluff-bespattered tweeding.

"Think we can bribe Carol to knit up a cat-sized blue cardigan?" Angel asked Raven, grinning. "We can't let Wagneto get _all_ the fun at Halloween."

"I know for a fact that she's susceptible to chocolate truffles."

They high fived each other, and then Wanda too.

Finally content with its kneading and rearranging of its cardigan-nest, the Purrfessor stretched out and placed a paw on Charles' knee.

 _Mew,_ it said smugly.

"Mew yourself," Charles chuckled, reaching for his scone. "I suppose we can wait a bit to investigate whether you're a Purrfessor Dorian Gray or a Jane."

"Purrrrrrrrrrrrminator!" Pietro declared.

"Whatever floats your boat, kid," Raven said, ruffling his hair. "It's not like Erik's going to call them anything but Puss and Spot anyhow. How _did_ you ever name your kids, Charles?"

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But he was going to anyway.

Charles arched a brow and licked his lips lasciviously: _"_ Shall we say, _extensive_ negotiations."

"Oh God, TMI!" Raven howled, clamping both hands over her head. "Bad mental images. Bad. Noooo..."

"What's ghostiations?" Wanda asked, watching Raven's contortions with interest.

Alex really could blush the most astonishing shades of scarlet; half strangled, he said, "You know when there's one cookie left and you and Pietro both want it? Negotiations are how you decide what happens."

"You mean punching?"

"Sure, somet-- er I mean," Alex rewound hastily at a _look_ from Charles. "Usually negotiations happen with words, and punching is only when the words don't work. Because the cookie might get broken with punching, so words are better to start with. Okay?"

"Well done, Alex," Charles said, smiling up at him. "All of this. Very well done."

"Uh. Thanks, sir." Alex ducked his head and scratched behind his neck and looked at his shoes.

Wanda was eyeing the berry tart now. "Papa, can we ghostiate for that?"

He couldn't help the flare of dismay; it must have been more visible than he thought, because Raven laughed, and Hank pushed his glasses up and took over.

"Magnus ate Papa's lunch, remember? Let's see if we can negotiate with Mrs. McDonough for some tarts of our own." She sighed, but took his hand readily enough; as they wandered down the hall, Hank told her, "The most important principle in a successful negotiation is in making sure both sides receive something they desire..."

 _Something they desire,_ Charles thought tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Maybe buying the Engelbarts' silence was worth it after all.

 _The most important principle in a successful negotiation is how good your lawyer is,_ Emma said, unrepentant. _They're going to_ desire _never to cross my path again, Charles._

Watching Alex and Sean wrestle with Magnus over the sock toy, Charles asked on impulse, _As long as you're negotiating - I don't suppose you could persuade their team to replace some of the damaged comic books we couldn't salvage? It's not that I couldn't afford replacements, it's that they should never have done it to begin with._

_Give me titles, issue numbers, and condition, and I'm on it._

_You really are kinder than you care to admit, aren't you._

_I told you, sugar, this isn't kindness. I plan to make those slimy cowards beg. Thank the kid for me._

_Whatever you say, my dear._ Aloud, he said, "Thank you, Alex."

Alex looked up from the dog, startled. "Huh?"

"For yourself, and for everything you've brought to us," he said, rubbing the cat's ears and smiling at an absentminded flick. "Emma sends her thanks for a certain opportunity, as well."

Alex thought _house full of crazy people_ a little louder than he meant to, and Charles smiled.

 _Quite right,_ he replied, _but I love all of you regardless._

_What do you mean, all of 'us'? You were crazy #1 in that list, mister._

_Even before Erik?_ he teased.

_...okay, crazy #2. Maybe. I don't know. It's hard to tell which of you is crazier, you're a matched set._

_Thank you,_ Charles replied, delighted, and Alex clapped a palm over his face. _No, really. Thank you. I'm glad you're here._

 _Me too, Prof,_ Alex said, with a shamefaced little grin. _Me too._


End file.
